The commander walked up and down the front line. Marines, stood in perfect attention. A fat cigar in his mouth, sometimes he stopped to puff on it or to rid the end of the ashes. All marines were nervous, like an animal, knowing its ready to die. Death makes people crazy. You fear nothing.

"At ease!" The commander barked, voice grizzled. Every marine loosened up. "You are about to attack an infested installation. Hellspawn all over and fuckin' pissed off. We gotta fuck 'em up!" he shouted for all the squad to hear. Marines grab weapons. Shotguns, chainguns, a few plasma guns. Of course the commander gets the BFG. You look at him. Fat lazy son of a bitch. He knows it too.

"Marines, the Hansel team will take left flank, sneak up and attack from the side. Team Gretal will be frontal assault and the Wicked Witch team will take rear flank, sneak around and attack from behind." he shouted, a PA system echoed his orders.

There were a lot marines so this was needed. You hold your shotgun and holster your Ka-Bar combat knife and your Colt .45 (both are standard issue in the Marine Corps), making sure you have at least three full clips. You look around. A few marines talking, some with beers or ciggarettes in their hands. You look up at the sky, deep in thought. Will Hell win? Only time will tell...

LOOK FOR THE ENDINGS TO THIS STORY.
HANSEL TEAM
GRETAL TEAM
WICKED WITCH TEAM.